


In Perfect Synergy

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Antichrist Sam, Blood Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Demon Blood Addiction, Gratuitous usage of the boys in tailored suits, Implied/Referenced Torture, King of Hell Dean, Knight of Hell Dean, M/M, Sam and Dean literally fuck on the throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving the Mark of Cain, Dean launches a campaign to take over Hell and succeeds. The only downside is that Sam is not with him... until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Perfect Synergy

**Author's Note:**

> Assume the following reading this: The conflict with Metatron happened directly after Dean receives the Mark.
> 
> Prompt from FRMcL that inspired this fic is in the end notes. I hope I did you proud.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean Winchester sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped before him, on the high backed wooden chair that served as a throne in an antechamber off of the pit of Hell. A symphony of sound surrounded him; men and women pleading for their lives, servants asking him inane questions, and the screams of various souls being tortured all threatening to overwhelm his senses, but he heard none of it. He sat in the center of the chaos running his bottom lip across his thumb nails, the picture of calm in the storm’s core. There was only one phrase, two words, which would rouse him out of his stupor and he had yet to hear them.

It had been over a year since he awoke from the death the Mark of Cain saved him from; since his green eyes clouded black and he saw the world as a demon would. Insecurity and self-loathing no longer cast a hazy coating over every step he took. He was filled with an artificial surety that moved through him as easily as an eel in water until it became genuine. Now he recognized himself for what he was; a gift from God, the true descendent of Cain, and rightful owner of the throne. There had been some misunderstandings along the way, but that was fine. He was willing to let bygones be bygones as long as those who made such egregious errors repented by serving below him, in their proper place.

Hell had been in shambles when he took over, but fear of the elder Winchester son as a Knight of Hell sent a surprising amount of terror through the throngs of the damned. The few factions which held to their conviction of not bowing to his will were decimated by those eager to get in their new leader’s good graces. The whole takeover had been disappointingly dull, but it did allow him plenty of time to devote himself to far more worthy causes.

“Excuse me, sir,” announced Jefferson, a large man who had risen from a lowly servant unfit to shine his Italian leather shoes to trusted - as much as you could trust a demon - bodyguard.

Dean lifted an eyebrow to signal to him that he would at least give him a passive amount of attention.

“Sam’s here.”

Excitement rolled through him and he allowed himself a small, contented smile. Lifting his right hand, he turned his forefinger in a lazy circle. “Clear the room.”

His voice, although quiet, seemed to reverberate through the loud space and everyone scrambled to obey his order. As he watched the unworthy maggots vacate the antechamber, he spared a fleeting thought that once upon a time, he would’ve seen himself as only a step above them; the only thing keeping him there being that he chose to do good. Oh, how wrong he had been, he lamented. He was doing more good now than he ever had out there thinking he was saving the world, doing God’s work. Down here in this cesspool of filth and disease, he was a god capable of carving out a better path for human and demon kind.

Once the room was empty, save for him, he stood from his contemplative position to smooth the creases out of his suit trousers and waistcoat. The cold platinum of his cufflinks shifted as he adjusted them so the “W” would face right-side up. Smooth silk brushed against his fingers as he centered the open collar with the buttons of his waistcoat. It was a lovely suit, one he had tailored for this specific occasion, and he couldn’t be more thrilled with Sam coming to him today, validating his choice to put it on. With everything in place, he put his hands in his pockets and waited.

Minutes passed in silence until the clicking of the lock and creaking of the ancient door shattered the quiet. Dean watched in composed elation as Sam timidly, but with purpose, slide into the room and shut the door, leaving them alone for the first time in over a year.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Dean,” he replied. Aside from having lost a few pounds, he looked the same as he had left him. The only notable exception, one which Dean strenuously approved of, was the length of his hair. It looked to be the same length as it was when he had returned to Sam after a year in Purgatory. Even the volume of it, borderline obscene for a man, was the same. Dean licked his lips and made eye contact with him.

“How was your trip?”

“Pleasant, by Purgatory standards.”

“And the halls here?”

“A far cry from what it was last time I came through. I’m assuming you had the path cleared.”

“Of course,” he smiled affably. “I didn’t want your arrival delayed.”

“You didn’t seem to care about me arriving anywhere when you were sending demons after me.”

Sam’s acidic tone did not escape Dean and he bowed his head slightly, conceding the point to him. “I was sending them after you, but not to kill you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they just misheard your original order of ‘Go have tea with my baby brother’ as ‘Rip him to shreds but be sure to bring me his head.’”

“You know, that was always one of your problems, Sammy,” Dean teasingly chastised. “For someone who loves thinking about the long term, you are remarkably short sighted.”

“Then what was your goal with sicking your demons on me?”

Dean could practically hear Sam grinding his teeth from across the room and he was having none of that. He didn’t want him here so they could fight for god knows what time, but to make him an offer, a proposal of sorts. Hell, he would get his answer if he listened to him first and didn’t shut himself off from the proceedings. It would all become clear in time. Removing his right hand from his pocket, he waved it in the direction of a wardrobe against the far wall.

“Open it.”

Sam eyed him warily for several calculated seconds before moving towards the oak wardrobe and pulling on its brass handles to reveal what was inside. Displayed on cushioned hangers was a suit identical to his own, except Sam’s was pure white to his abyss black. The only thing that broke up the monochrome color scheme was the silk shirt which, like his own, had threads of blood red used in the seams. Odd that such a small detail could have such an impact on the final product, giving it a sinister tone that could have easily turned gaudy in the hands of a lesser tailor.

“Rewatch Saturday Night Fever recently?”

“No, but I could have the Bee Gees come in and sing Stayin’ Alive for you if you want.”

Longing curled through Dean at the sight of Sam running a hand over the suit pieces that were purposely reminiscent of the ones Lucifer had worn when he had Sam as his vessel in the theoretical future Zachariah had shown him. He’d never told Sam that little detail, barely told him anything of the experience, and he was exceptionally pleased with himself and his censorship regarding those hellish days now. If he knew why the suit didn’t match his, wasn’t any other color in the spectrum, he would be more likely to set the whole thing on fire instead of wear it.

“Put it on.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s for you. And I want to see if I got your measurements right.”

Looking slightly incredulous, Sam turned to him. “You know my measurements?”

“We practically lived in each other’s pockets our whole lives. You should be more surprised if I _didn’t_ know your measurements.”

After briefly scanning the room, Dean noticed that Sam seemed to note there was nowhere he could go for privacy to dress. Nodding more to himself than to him, he began to strip his many layers. Shoes were kicked off his feet while he pulled his jacket down his long arms. Striped shirt hit the floor and worn jeans gathered at his ankles. The strong form hidden beneath army surplus and Wal-Mart threads sent waves of arousal through Dean like no one else’s body could. It was perfect. Tall and imposing. Sculpted and firm. God, how he’d spent years pining to wrap his legs around that trim waist. To have him hovering over him as he fucked him into senseless, blessed, agonizingly sweet, deliciously painful completion. That was another benefit of becoming a Knight of Hell. The shame at feeling such desire for his brother had been washed away with all regard he had towards societal norms and mores. Now he practically reveled at the feeling of blood filling his cock as he gazed unabashedly at the bulge of Sam’s boxer briefs. Whether Sam noticed his gawking he didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. He could think of this moment later when he fucked some anonymous bitch the way he wanted Sam to fuck him.

Hungry eyes drank in the sight of him as his deft fingers buttoned the waistcoat and ivory shirt, leaving the top buttons undone to reveal a tantalizing sliver of tan skin. The trousers hugged his mile long legs with sinful grace. Pale socks were pulled over his feet before he tied the leather shoes that were worth more than their entire weapons arsenal. Dean could feel his heart pump furiously to compensate for his state of arousal and hear the small, soundless hitches in his breathing pattern.

“Is there a point to all this?” Sam asked as he tugged on the French cuffs to secure the final piece of the outfit, its crowning glory, the platinum “W” cufflinks. Dean watched him without hearing a word he said, only able to take in his appearance. As Sam fastened the cufflinks in place, he stood with his legs slightly parted, hips forward, in the confident stance he fell into without notice. There was something about it now, maybe it was the suit, that made Dean bite down on the inside of his cheeks to keep himself in check. The slot between his legs was the perfect size for him to kneel between, for him to run his hands up those muscular thighs before unzipping him and swallowing his cock whole. The thought made him salivate and the pressure in his trousers to increase excruciatingly.

“Dean?”

“What?” was all he managed to choke out. Sam’s face morphed into something that he wasn’t able to catch before he settled into his default expression with him: irritation.

“What is this all for?”

Regaining a modicum of the composure he was now known for exuding, he tilted his head towards the door that was located directly in front of his pseudo-throne across the room. “Follow me.”

Leading the way towards the ornate mahogany door, he heard Sam fall into step just behind him, as they had done so often in their time together. Pulling an old iron key out of the secret pocket inside his waistcoat, he slipped it into the lock and turned it, revealing the room that housed the pit of Hell.

Before Dean had taken command of Hell, he had always assumed “the pit” was a figure of speech. He had quickly been proven wrong as he toured the bowels of Hell’s command center the first time, finding the pit to be at its very center. As it was upon his first inspection, it was hot enough to offend the parts of him which remained resolutely human, sweat sticking to his skin as he was bathed in steam. The humidity pouring out of the fiery, bottomless pit stuck to the smooth black granite walls, making them glitter like scarab beetles in the rain. It was an oddly beautiful room, its true treasure being the real throne of Hell, composed entirely of the bones of the original vessels of the Knights of Hell; comfort being provided by way of red velvet cushions. Torches suffused the chamber in a warm orange glow that made the chamber seem far more inviting than it truly was. Before he could lead Sam in, he had pushed past him and stood aghast before the one addition Dean had made to the sparse area. A cruel smile curved his lips upwards at the sight.

“De- Dean what the – what the _fuck_ is this!?” Sam bellowed at him as he stared uncomprehendingly at what hung before him.

Abaddon had been exceedingly difficult to catch. She was elusive in the extreme, slipping from his grasp as easily as water through a sieve. Numerous traps had been set to capture her and none had succeeded until he gave her what she was actually after: Sam. With news of his murder of Crowley and his new status as a Knight of Hell quickly spreading, Abaddon scrambled to eliminate what few threats remained to her claim of the throne, saving Dean for last. Regardless of what they had fooled themselves into believing, wisps of suspicion still lingered about what Sam was capable of. It was a train of thought that Dean could now understand.

Leaders have come and gone in Hell since its creation, Lucifer reigning the longest, bar none. But like Lucifer, Sam and his abilities, what he could do with simply the power of thought, was the stuff of religious legend. He was the antichrist, destined to bring death and destruction to earth and any other territory he set his sights on. Nothing else in creation was as powerful as Sam at his most lethal. Such a threat to the hierarchy could not be allowed to persist, no matter how disinterested he seemed in the job or how he had supposedly blown every shred of power he possessed years before in one flash of blinding light.

Setting the trap for Abaddon did involve a small amount of risk to Sam’s life, but it was a gamble Dean was willing to take. Admittedly the demons _did_ believe they were sent after Sam to kill him, which is where the danger rested in his plan, but he knew Sam could take care of himself. His attempts to kill Sam had to appear as genuine as possible, so genuine in fact, that all but five souls within his ranks thought he wanted his flesh and blood brother’s head on a stake.

Cronies of Abaddon kept tabs on his every move as well as those of his agents and it was exploiting this knowledge that allowed Dean to catch her. Letting her believe through his agents trail that they were closing in on Sam holing up in some two bit motel in Decatur, he deployed his loyalists to shadow the unwitting martyrs to capture Abaddon once she showed her face. And show her face she did. She took out the decoys with an ease that would alarm him if it wasn’t planned for her to do so. Before she could even think about turning on her heels to approach Sam’s door, his people captured her. Sam would never know what happened not even fifty feet away from where he slept that night.

Dean thought himself merciful in his treatment of her. He didn’t hate her, he understood her in a way he couldn’t before he received the Mark and succumbed to its influence. But facts were facts and she was a challenger to the throne. Unlike Sam and other potential threats, she would be relentless and single-minded in her pursuit to attain what she felt was rightfully hers. That’s why she now hung on meat hooks, like the ones he had been hung from when he first entered Hell after the hellhounds collected on his deal, suspended naked over the throne she desperately wanted to sit on.

“She’s a gift.”

“A – a – a gift!? This isn’t a gift, Dean! Let her go, do something!”

“Let her go!?” Dean laughed in Sam’s face without a trace of humor. “So she can, what, kill us and throw us into the pit? I don’t think so.”

Sam looked beside himself as he looked back and forth between Dean and Abaddon’s struggling form, fresh blood pouring out of her gaping wounds. “What is this for? How is this a gift?”

An unintelligible thrill spun through Dean at finally being asked the right questions.

“I’m going to make you powerful again, Sammy. Reignite the fires of your soul.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Focused almost exclusively on Dean now, Sam narrowed his eyes, employing whatever understanding he had of his brother to try and comprehend the situation at hand. Fissions of fear made his finger twitch and Dean waited the tremors out before he spoke again, knowing Sam was not going to make the next move.

“I want you by my side. Us together, me a Knight and you with your abilities, we will be invincible. This is our one, true destiny.”

“That’s a great plan and all Dean, but you’re forgetting the little fact that I don’t have my powers anymore. Haven’t had them for years. They’re gone.”

Dean ran a hand down his face to hide his eye roll from Sam. He was supposed to be the smart one and Dean wondered if he was being deliberately slow. “Hence the one remaining Knight of Hell besides myself, Sam. Our blood is far more potent than an average demon’s. Drink her blood and your abilities will come back tenfold.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Do you remember about a month ago when you were attacked by a demon that burst into flames the second you touched her?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I had some expendables watching you and reporting back to me the effects my blood had on you.”

“Your blood?” Sam asked, looking and sounding like a confused puppy. It was almost adorable. “You haven’t been anywhere near me in a year.”

“I had your coffee laced that morning. Sam, listen to me,” Dean insisted as he walked towards his brother and grabbed his shoulders, ignoring the flinch he made at the contact. “That was one drop; _one drop_ in your coffee and that’s what you were able to do. Just think about all you could do if you drank _liters_ of her blood. The only limit would be your imagination!”

Sam was shaking his head, as if he could knock out the dangerous thoughts bouncing around in there with the movement, but he didn’t move away from Dean’s hold.

“I don’t – I don’t know. I can’t... Dean, what happens if I say no?”

Letting his hands drop, Dean looked into Sam’s distressed eyes and told him plainly, “I’ll kill you.”

“What?” he intoned with no inflection.

“The only way you’re leaving this room is either at my side or as a chilling corpse. No option three, no hope for some last minute rescue; this is it, the end of the line. You either drink her blood or I snap your neck. But I’ll tell you what, I won’t even retain your soul. I’ll let it flit right up to heaven without impeding its course.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why we could never function when the other was torn from us? Why we could never move on and that constant ache in our chest never went away? We were created in perfect synergy, to be two halves of a whole. If you force my hand in killing you, your soul will go to heaven, but because I’m not there - ”

“ – my Heaven will feel more like Hell,” Sam completed in a tone sounding both defeated and understanding.

“Yes,” Dean affirmed, not unkindly. “And what human parts remain of me will be destroyed as well. Our destiny is to be together for all eternity. It’s the only way will ever be truly happy and this is the only way for that to happen now.”

“So, what, I drink her blood and become the new King of Hell?”

“Oh, no no no. You see, there was a little... misunderstanding there. The oldest of us was always meant to ascend to the throne but Azazel, when he came to infect me, chose you instead because it’s easier to make a baby drink demon blood without a fuss than a toddler. He screwed up our bloodline a little bit with that, but Cain corrected it when he gave me the Mark. It makes sense, really. All the bad shit that happened to you was just following the infected blood rather than who it was actually intended for. I think that’s why you were always so resistant to its pull; it was never meant to happen to you. Now, if I had been infected, it would have conformed to my personality far easier than yours.”

“You’re basically saying that you want me at your side as some glorified henchman.”

“No, I’m say that I’ll be the King of Hell and you’ll be Antichrist Superstar.”

“Aren’t you already the king?”

“Technically speaking, no. She is. That’s a perk of her dying.”

Having laid everything out on the line for Sam, Dean fell quiet and watched Sam digest every bit of information he was just fed. Everything was in his hands now, whether they lived together happily or apart, miserable for the rest of time. He looked like he was handling it as well as he could, all things considered. The only visible sign of distress on him was how he was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

Gesturing absently towards the still thrashing Abaddon, Sam inquired, “Why isn’t she screaming?”

“Her mouth has been sealed. Tongue removed. Her screams were getting annoying.”

It was almost comical how effortlessly Sam seemed to assimilate this fact, just a slight downturn of his lips was all he did, and considering everything they had just discussed it was probably the least shocking thing Dean had said since “Hello.”

Minutes passed as Sam silently walked the circumference of the pit contemplating his next move. Dean knew it wouldn’t be easy convincing him to stay, he would probably still have some convincing to do even if he chose to, but he did what he could and he was satisfied with his delivery. After his third or maybe fourth rotation, Sam stopped in front of Dean with an expression of resolve.

“Do it.”

“Kill you?” he almost whispered due to shock. This isn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t right. Sam was supposed to choose him. They were supposed to –

“Bleed her.”

Relief strong enough to make him sway was soon replaced by joy. Sam didn’t look happy about his choice, but he didn’t need to be, not yet anyway. Without another word, Dean nodded his head and moved towards the throne to retrieve the First Blade tucked between the seat cushion and chair arm. Touching the Blade again was almost a sexual experience, its will a tangible thing that sent sparks through his person.

Staring unforgivingly into Abaddon’s furious eyes, he spun the Blade through his fingers before settling it in the palm of his hand. At feeling Sam’s body heat at his back, Dean lifted the tip of the Blade to her carotid artery.

“’And the sword shall devour, and it shall be satiate and made drunk with their blood.’”

“You’re not God.”

“I’m as good as.”

Abaddon’s screams would have been enough to quake the halls of Hell if she’d had the ability to do so. Instead, she flailed about impotently as Sam shoved Dean aside and clamped his mouth over her opened artery. Watching Sam drink her blood so enthusiastically, his hands clasped harshly on her naked waist to still her, sent thick waves of arousal through Dean. Never had he seen anything so erotic as the sight of his brother sucking the life out of his most dangerous enemy.

Slowly backing away from Abbadon’s drained body, Sam tentatively lifted his right hand to rest just above the center of her chest. Nothing happened initially, but then a soft glow erupted from his hand and her body began rising into the air, the hooks tearing away from her flesh as she got higher. Once she was about twenty feet above him, he turned so his body was facing the pit, her dead body now held in place above that great chasm by Sam’s invisible force. Without any preamble, the light in his palm diminished and she dropped into the pit, Sam going to the ground right after.

Dean rushed to his brother’s side and pulled his body into his lap, back to chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Better than okay,” was Sam’s breathless reply. “Her blood... it’s so – pure. What I felt like when I killed Lilith is a shadow compared to this.”

With Lucifer as his witness, Dean would swear he’d never heard anything sexier. “I want you to always feel this good. If you ever need more, my blood is yours.”

Leaving the security of his arms, Sam turned and sat in front of him, splaying his legs open and using his arms to hold himself up. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course.”

Dean felt like he deserved a medal for being able to get those two words out, he was so painfully turned on. The blood covering Sam’s face also coated his neck and soaked through his previously pristine white shirt. He was a vision in silk and blood. The newly crowned King of Hell noticed his eyes flick down to his tented trousers and he could honestly say he didn’t care if Sam thought it was sick or not.

“Tell me, what parts of you have remained human?”

“My desire for your body is entirely human.”

Sam’s lascivious grin made Dean want to claw his own face off, the heat of it too much to handle. Standing up, Sam extended a hand to help him up and he took it, leaving the First Blade forgotten on the stone floor. When he was pulled to his feet, he was surprised when Sam shoved him onto the throne - which was now rightfully his - and whisper sinfully into his ear, “Good.”

Standing tall before him, Sam smiled darkly as he kicked off his shoes and removed the socks. His gorgeous, long fingers then began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Dean palmed his aching erection, not even appreciating that he was now sitting on _his_ throne. He was too captivated by Sam putting on a show.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t you want this?” Sam teased as he ran his hand tantalizingly down his chest to cup his evidently hard cock.

Dean began to wonder how he had not spontaneously combusted at this point. “Fuck yeah.”

“Then stop talking.”

Gripping the bones of the arm of his throne, Dean writhed in a state of pleasant agony as he watched Sam undress, tossing his trousers aside as if they were nothing. Leaving his unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt on, probably accurately assessing that the blood caking them turned him on, he faced him in all of his mostly naked glory. Dean salivated at the sight of his bare cock in front of him begging for attention.

“What do you want, Dean?” he asked as he climbed onto Dean’s lap, straddling his legs. “All you gotta do is ask and it’s yours.”

Pushing his hands past the folds of Sam’s shirt so he could run them up and down his sides, Dean felt it was asking a lot for him to form a coherent sentence.“I wanna ride you.”

“Are you sure? I could go down on you as you bask in the glow of where you’re sitting.”

And damn did that sound good, especially the way he purred it into his ear, but whenever Dean thought of sex with Sam he was always driving himself down on his cock hard enough to see stars. Now that he could make it happen, he was going to take it.

“I want you inside me. Now.”

“As you wish.”

Sam got off of his lap and waited for Dean to stand so they could trade places. Once he did, he took his seat on the throne and Dean almost whimpered at the sight. That powerful, artful body looked so at place on the throne and knowing he was about to fuck him on it made his legs shake. Remembering that he needed to undress, he lifted his feet to take off his shoes when Sam stayed his hand.

“Allow me.”

Using only his mind and simple hand motions, he lifted Dean’s legs to remove his shoes and socks, then moving on to unzip his pants. As he was pushing them down his legs, Dean bent down and removed a packet of lubricant from one of the pockets before he kicked them away.

“Really, Dean?”

“I’m a Winchester. We’re prepared for anything.”

The laugh Sam released electrified the air and Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. There was nothing he loved more than his Sammy laughing, it meant he was happy.

Dean waited for Sam to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt with his mind, leaving them on like he did, before he strode forward confidently and straddled his legs. He could feel his own erection grow impossibly harder as he applied the lubricant to Sam's cock. It was gloriously hard and already leaking pre-cum, letting Dean know that he wanted this as much as he did. Arching his body so his cock was aligned with his ass, he was about to down himself on it when Sam stopped him.

“Wait! Don’t I need to - ”

“No. I already did that earlier. And I like a little pain.”

That last statement seemed to hit a chord in Sam because the next thing Dean knew, Sam was pushing him down on his cock, fingers digging painfully into his hips as he was lowered. He cried out as the burn of the stretch and bliss of his prostate being touched collided in torrents of pleasure inside him. Clinging to a pair of - what he guessed - were femurs above Sam’s head, he set an agonizing pace, years of need coming to the surface to be satiated.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam moaned as he moved his hands with the cadence of Dean’s hips and met his every thrust.

Inspiration sprouting from beneath his arousal, Dean slowed himself and leaned back, looking into his brother’s demon black eyes as he unclasped one of his “W” cufflinks. Not turning away, Dean stared him down as he used the sharp end to cut himself just above his nipple. Tossing the cufflink aside, he used one hand to grab one of the femurs again and the other to grip Sam’s hair to shove his mouth onto the wound. What he didn’t count on though as Sam feasted on his blood was him gripping his cock as he bit down on his nipple.

Orgasm crashed into him like waves on a beach and his screams, soon joined by his brother's, resounded throughout the room to come back and ring in their ears. Smirking at the broken femur in his hand, he dropped it and tilted back so he could get a good look at Sam. Sweat and cum covered his sculpted chest and his freshly sexed hair hung mesmerizingly in curtains around his face. The black eyes were gone and what was left was pure Sam, the love of his life. Nuzzling the side of his face, enjoying the stubble along his jaw, he murmured in his ear, “Let’s burn this world down.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Post Season 9 Dean receives the mark and it turns out Azazel chose the wrong Winchester. It was always meant to be Dean. It's all about the bloodline, being the eldest son descended from Cain and Abel, having killed yellow-eyes and apprenticed under Alastair, only Abaddon stands between him and his rightful place on Hell; the throne.  
> Making Sammy go dark side would be bonus.
> 
> This is the darkest fic I've written to date and I'm still a tad nervous about how it will be received. Let me know what you think in the comments or on my Tumblr, [mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your read!


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